not alone in the light
by currents
Summary: Stiles wishes his life was more exciting. Scott just wishes Stiles would let him get some sleep. /or, two best friends in the dark. -Scott&Stiles- Pre-S1. Enjoy!


A/N: A gift for Tyler Posey (though he little deserves it).

The real reason I watch Teen Wolf? Not for for Sterek (which isn't _twisted_, by the by). For Stiles & Scott. Their broship is the best ship on that show, they are perfection, I am in love. The Stiles/Scott dynamic is really fantastic. I tried to write the characters a little differently than how I usually read them, mostly because I'm relying on my personal headcanons from s1.

THIS IS SET **PRE-SEASON ONE**. I WROTE THIS HOPING TO BE SEASON ONE COMPLIANT, BUT IF I'M NOT, LET ME KNOW.

Anyway. I own nothing.

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not alone in the light

"_i would rather walk with a friend in the dark, than alone in the light._"  
—- hellen keller

. . .

The call came around two in the morning.

Scott was almost half-asleep at this point, having just abandoned some shitty documentary on the beluga whale that he found on Netflix halfway through. It was late summer and outside his closed window, bugs buzzed angrily and an oppressive kind of heat sunk into what was normally crisp California breeze.

The caller ID said Stiles, so Scott fumbled for his phone—almost falling off his bed in the attempt—only for the ringing to cease. He debated turning off his phone, but it rang again, shrill and startling in the otherwise silent house.

Thank god his mother had the late shift.

"Yeah, what?" Scott mumbled into the phone, pushing it up to his ear at last.

"Yeah, hi to you too, dude," Stiles snarked from the other end of the line, sounding far too awake for Scott's taste. It was typical, really, Scott was well-aware that his best (and only) friend kept weird sleeping patterns, but usually Stiles had the propriety to at least pretend he was something resembling a functional human being.

"I was asleep and you woke me up," Scott lied.

"Liar," Stiles crowed. "I know you, McCall. What documentary was it today? The Coral Reef And It's Many Wonders again, or did you venture into more exciting territory?"

"Fuck off," Scott said, but he was grinning now. He sat up properly, pushing his back against his headboard and getting comfortable.

"Well?"

"Doesn't matter. What's up?"

Stiles was unnaturally silent for a few moments. Scott felt the smile slide off his face, "Dude. You there?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

"Well?"

"Well?" Stiles repeated, irritably. "Can't I call my best friend for no reason? What is this, the Spanish Inquisition?"

"No one expects the Spanish Inquisition," Scott intoned, but Stiles didn't even chuckle. Something was definitely wrong. Stiles loved Monty Python jokes. Maybe Scott was about to find out what had been bothering Stiles practically all summer.

"You know what? You're right. It's late. I'll let you get back to Animal Planet, or whatever." Stiles mumbled.

"Dude, wait!" Scott protested quickly, "You're freaking me out now. What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong!" Stiles said, or exclaimed really. Scott hoped the Sherriff was also grabbing a night shift, there was no way he could sleep through the noise Stiles was making. Though, Stiles made a lot of noise in general, perhaps the Sherriff had just learned to tune him out? Scott certainly had.

"Are you even listening to me?" Stiles snapped. Case and point.

"Yes!" Scott lied.

"What did I just say?"

"… Uh."

Stiles sighed. "Forget it."

"No, dude, c'mon," Scott protested, "I'm listening, I promise."

He was listening. Something had been bothering Stiles recently, Scott knew that. Something had been bothering Stiles since the very end of freshman year and throughout most of the summer up to this point. Scott just hoped it was something he could help with, because Stiles got even antsier when he was upset which in turn made Scott nervous and it was a vicious cycle, truly.

"Fine, okay. I was saying that nothing's wrong. At least, not really. I'm just… worried about sophomore year, I guess."

"Dude, your grades are way better than mine!"

"That's not what I mean! I just…," Stiles sighed again. "I just want to do something that… matters. I dunno. Just forget it, I'm being stupid."

"No, no," Scott said hurriedly, "Keep going."

"I want… I want to look back at my high school experience and know that I did something important with it. That it was meaningful. Or, whatever. Is that dumb?"

"Kind of," Scott said absently, still sorting through the new information, "But not, like, in a terrible way. I mean, we got onto the lacrosse team, right? That's important."

Stiles sighed for a third time. Scott was beginning to sense a pattern. "No, dude," Stiles said slowly, "Lacrosse isn't exactly what I meant."

"What did you mean then?"

"I want to do something dangerous, man!" Stiles finally burst out. He sounded like he'd been keeping this thought in, something he hadn't meant to say, but couldn't stop telling. "I want to risk my life and do crazy, stupid, teenager shit! I want my dad to be disappointed in me! Well, no, wait, I don't want that, but I, like, want to do things that police officers would not approve of, y'know?"

"Yeah," Scott said, "yeah. I understand."

He dithered on what to say next, trying to word out the response Stiles was obviously anticipating. Eventually, he just said: "Why?"

"Because we don't have any other friends, Scott." Stiles said. "Because I'm never going to be Jackson Whittemore, or date Lydia Martin (well, I might, it's all in the ten year plan). Because I get tired of that sometimes, okay?"

"Okay." Scott said simply. "Then we will."

"Will what?" Stiles asked, sounding very, very tired.

"We'll go… gallivanting for danger."

"Excellent word choice, McCall," Stiles snorted.

"Screw you too, Stilinski."

Scott could hear Stiles shifting awkwardly on the other line, could imagine the crinkle of his brown and the automatic shrug of discomfort he was undoubtedly performing. For someone so animated, Stiles was really uncomfortable with talking about his feelings.

_Boys_, Scott thought ironically in the same voice his mother used when he and Stiles were younger and had gotten into some sort of shenanigans.

"So… really?" Stiles said, sounding pathetically hopeful and Scott wondered in a sleep-deprived and half-hysterical fashion how Lydia Martin could possibly refuse Stiles when he sounded so… cute.

"Yeah, bro. We'll go gallivanting," Scott maturely ignored Stiles' snort, "And we can tap into your dad's police scanner and everything."

"Sweet." Stiles grinned and Scott could see it without seeing it.

Scott knew what Stiles was talking about, the whole wanting to be someone else thing.

There were days when Scott hated being an asthmatic loser with only one friend to his name, hated the fact that his only real skills were (in his opinion) at playing Halo. But, there was something about being best friends with a guy like Stiles, who just got him and who he just got in return, that made the shitty reputation, lack of girlfriend, and general monotony of his life, something closer to bearable.

"I love you, dude." Scott said, only somewhat impulsively. It wasn't like Scott had never said it before; he was, as Stiles had termed it, embarrassingly in touch with his feelings. But it felt more serious that late in the night (early in the morning?) after a conversation about what was technically the future.

"I don't swing that way, man," Stiles cracked.

Scott took that to mean _I love you too_, and, in the name of that love, hung up on Stiles and proceeded to flop back into bed like a jellyfish. He snuggled into his covers and resolved to find a better marine life documentary in the morning.

Apparently, his life was about to get a lot more exciting. He could use all the sleep he could get.

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Please don't favorite without reviewing.

It makes all the young children cry.

Always,

Summer


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